


something makes us more than blood and bone

by GalaxyOwl



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Other, is there a name for the trope where everyone knows they're dating but them, set during the finale (so it inevitably gets pretty sad whoops)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-20 22:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16564073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/pseuds/GalaxyOwl
Summary: AuDy doesn't really have anywhere to go home to. Cass offers them a place to stay. It's a chance for reconnection, maybe. A chance to reexamine things.





	something makes us more than blood and bone

**Author's Note:**

> title is from neil gaiman's dark sonnet, because honestly sometimes you just gotta be pretentious and title your fanfic with a line from a sonnet

It’s strange to see all of them again, after so long.

Aria arrives early, Jacqui at her side, and Cass realizes they can’t remember the last time they spoke face to face. She hugs them and smiles as she pulls away, and says, “It’s good to see you, Cass.”

Mako gets there not long after. He greets Cass with a yell and Cass laughs and tries to think of when the last time they heard his voice was.

And AuDy—

And AuDy.

They arrive at Orth’s side and remain there silently as he and Cass saytheir hellos. Cass knew they were coming, of course, that was the whole point, but there’s a part of them that hadn’t quite processed unail this exact moment that AuDy really and truly isn’t dead. They’re back. They’re here. They’re _right_ here.

Aria is saying something, Cass realizes, and they force themself to turn their attention back to her, let her pull them into conversation.

Overall, the dinner itselfisn’t a complete disaster, but it isn’t what they’d call a success either. Afterwards is a series of goodbyes that feel harder than they should.

(“I’ll see you next month, normal time?” Aria says as she steps out the door.

“I don’t know,” Cass says. “Things are so busy these days…” They never finish the sentence.)

AuDy passes them in the hallway on their way to the exit and Cass says, “Are you heading out?”

AuDy stops. “Yes.”

AuDy’s presence at the dinner had been… controversial, in more ways than one. Their angry lecture at some of the other guests had _not_ helped, and Cass can’t help the flicker of frustration that passes through them as they remember. They’re going to have play cleanup over the next couple weeks, and AuDy almost certainly doesn’t know or care.

It’s easy to romanticize someone in their absence, but the actuality of interacting with AuDy—of interacting with _Discovery_ , who/whatever the fuck that really is—was something more complicated.

“I’m glad you came,” Cass says aloud.

“I am not sure I understand why,” AuDy says.

“Honestly,” Cass says, annoyance slipping into their voice, "neither am I.”

AuDy doesn’t say anything. They also don’t move to leave.

Cass groans. “What the hell was that back there, anyway?”

“What are you referring to?”

“You can’t just—“ Fine. Fine, they’re doing this. “This is a very precarious political situation, AuDy. And I’m not an emperor, okay, that’s the whole—“

“They were being disrespectful towards you.”

“I don’t care! It _is_ good seeing you again, but—fuck, tonight was supposed to be the one night that wasn’t _about_ them, or any of that shit, but maybe I’m foolish for thinking I can ever even get that.”

AuDy doesn’t respond. Do they understand what they did wrong? Does it matter? Cass doesn’t need them to understand the intricacies of the political situation but they had assumed that they had a better grasp on things than _this_. Which, really, was where they went wrong.

“You’re upset.”

Cass snorts. “You think?”

“I do not believe I did anything—“

“I don’t care. I don’t _care_ , AuDy, I needed this one thing, I _needed_ this night to go right and it didn’t, really, and now everything is—now whatever happens—how am I supposed to do anything right if I can’t even do the selfish thing well? What the is the _point_ of _any_ of this?” Cass pauses to take a breath.

“For what it’s worth,” AuDy says. “I did not think the dinner was a failure, if your goal was for the four of us to have an enjoyable evening and not to make any concrete difference in our collective oncoming dooms.”

Cass deflates.

They’re pretty sure that was a complement? They’re pretty sure AuDy’s saying that they had a good time, in their bizarre roundabout way. And Cass shouldn’t care about that given the situation but if they’re honest it _is_ a relief, to know that AuDy still thinks of them as a friend, or at least someone they enjoy being around. To know that they ever did.

A moment passes in silence. Finally, AuDy says, “I will leave now. The event is over. Goodbye, Cass.”

Cass hesitates a moment as AuDy turns. “Where are you going, anyway?” For all that AuDy had been unfortunately talkative during the dinner, they hadn’t really said much about how _they_ were doing these days. Cass didn’t have the least idea what their post-Chime life looked like.

“I am leaving,” AuDy says.

“Yes, but where are you going?”

“…Space.”

“Space,” Cass echoes. “Where in space?”

“Orth has returned custody of the _Kingdom Come_ to me,” AuDy says.

“You’ve been with Orth?” That makes sense, Cass thinks.

“Some,” AuDy says. “He is very busy.”

“So you’ve been…” Cass has to be misunderstanding. “In space? On the ship?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Oh.

Maybe it isn’t right of them, to judge AuDy by normal standards. Cass has a vague understanding that they’re different from most divines, who like having candidates. So maybe AuDy doesn’t need people at all, and almost certainly they don’t need people in the same way that Apostolosians and humans do. But when Cass pictures AuDy, alone in interstellar space in the empty cockpit of the _Kingdom Come_ , their heart clenches at how horribly, intensely _lonely_ that sounds.

“AuDy…” they say. They run a hand through their hair. “Are you… Are you okay? Are you happy?”

“I am better able to affect things now than when I was on September.”

They didn’t say yes.

“If…” Cass starts. “If you want, you could stay here,” they find themself saying, “a little while longer.”

AuDy doesn’t respond.

Has Cass offended them somehow by making the offer? “You don’t have to.”

“No,” AuDy says. “No, I would like to stay.” They pause, and then add, “Thank you, Cass. This is very kind of you.”

“No problem,” Cass says, and if their voice is shakes a little, no one but they and AuDy have to know that.

***

“I should probably let you know,” Cass says to Sokrates over breakfast the next morning, “AuDy’s going to be staying here a while longer.”

“Oh?” Sokrates says, eyebrow raised.

“That’s—what are you even implying?”

Sokrates shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. “Nothing.”

“We’re—AuDy’s a robot!”

“I thought you said they were a person,” Sokrates says, taking a bite of pastry. “You were very clear about that.”

Cass _knows_ they’re just trying to provoke them because they think it’s funny. They know that, but the thing is, they’ve succeeded. The concept is absurd. “A person who _is a robot_. I don’t know that AuDy even _has_ feelings like that.”

Sokrates stops eating a moment and looks at them. “Like what?”

“Like—you know.”

“Uh-huh.” They take a bite. “Whatever you say, Cassie.”

“I am an adult, and if you call me that again, I _will_ have you escorted out of the palace.”

“State building,” Sokrates corrects them. “And no you won’t.”

***

It’s ridiculous, of course.

Not just because AuDy is a robot. It’s obviously not _just_ because AuDy is a robot, because if Cass is being fair Sokrates was right. AuDy is a person and that means that every kind of relationship a person could have is at least theoretically on the table (never mind the fact that there’s not really anything robotic about a _lack_ of romance). It’s not because of that. It’s because…

It’s _because_ …

Well, because AuDy is their friend. That’s all. They’ve never had any reason to think of them as anything else.

Sokrates makes the joke again a couple days later, since they apparently can’t let anything go; in front of AuDy, this time. AuDy, who tilts their antenna and says, “Cass is not my partner,” very matter-of-factly. And Sokrates laughs, and Cass pushes down the tangled feelings of frustration at hearing AuDy says those words out loud.

It’s true, though. There’s no reason for them to be annoyed with AuDy for saying something that’s objectively and factually true. Probably it’s just because they said it in a way that Sokrates still finds funny; Cass would rather not give them the satisfaction. Yes, that’s got to be it.

Cass looks at AuDy. That’s got to be it, right?

“There is work to be done if we are to defeat Rigor,” AuDy is saying. Cass has missed part of the conversation. “But much of it I can do as easily from here as I can from my ship.”

Sokrates goes still. “What do you know about Rigor?”

“Much,” AuDy says. “I am the divine Discovery.”

Sokrates, without missing a beat, says, “Is Cassander your candidate?” And then immediately after, “Wait, what—why don’t you take candidates?”

Cass doesn’t understand where they got the information from until they notice them fingering at the edge of one of the trailing tendrils of Integrity on their wrist.

Cass has gotten pretty good at ignoring the horrifying strands of metal sticking out of their sibling’s neck (or maybe Sokrates has just gotten good at choosing clothing that hides it). But it’s hard not to let their gaze drift there now. It’s so easy to forget they’re never really alone when they’re talking to them.

“That’s still kinda creepy,” Cass says, at the same time that AuDy says, “It is not of importance.”

Sokrates laughs. Cass isn’t sure at which response.

They hadn’t really processed it before. That that thing on Sokrates’ back is the same kind of being as AuDy. It sits uncomfortably alongside their concept of who AuDy is, somehow, even now they’ve known the truth for so long.

AuDy is a _divine_. They’re one of the _things_ Cass’ people fought a war against.

But then, most of Cass’ friends were on an opposing side of that particular war.

***

They should’ve expected that meeting to be a disaster, really, but they thought they had at least _some_ chance of winning over the ex-duke. Instead all they’d gotten was the usual bullshit about how they were the last chance the Pelagios family had to keep the throne in royal hands, and that they need to focus on that instead of anything happening beyond the Empire’s borders, and honestly Cass can barely believe the fucking gall of these people to think that they could just say those things and have it be fine—which of course it will be because stripping them of their social power is not a project Cass has time for, that’s the whole problem—

Cass flings themself onto the bed with a groan. They lay there a moment, eyes shut.

They may have overreacted. They honestly don’t remember all of what they said.

“Cass,” says a voice, and Cass jolts their head up.

AuDy is standing across from them. They do a moment of mental backtracking—was AuDy there when they entered?—and realize they really don’t know.

Cass sits up. “You can’t just barge into people’s rooms like that,” they say, although there’s no real anger in their voice. They’ve spent all of that already. “This is a private space.”

“You were not here.” So they _had_ been here before Cass entered.

“That’s kind of my point, yeah.”

AuDy doesn’t respond.

Cass sighs, runs their hand along the seam of the blanket they’re sitting on. After a moment, they say, “Was there a reason you’re here?”

“I am sorry,” AuDy says.

“For barging in?”

“No,” they say. Cass snorts. “I suppose for that as well, if necessary. But I am sorry for what I said during the dinner. I believed I was being helpful, and I was not. I am attempting to apologize.”

“Oh,” Cass says. “Oh, I… Thanks.”

The dinner had only been maybe four days ago, but already that felt like millennia.

AuDy goes silent. For once, Cass is content to let it sit. They could never have imagined this conversation, never have imagined AuDy apologizing for anything, and now the moment feels fragile, like if they touch it wrong it’ll shatter. (A thought, at the back of their head, and a tightness in their chest, and they shove aside the feeling because it is neither the time nor the place, surely.)

Without warning, AuDy starts towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Cass says.

They stop. “It would be rude to continue standing in your room when we are no longer talking.”

This time, Cass is the one who sits in silence a while before responding. “Yeah,” they say. “Yeah, you’re right. There’s no real reason for you to stay.”

“If you would prefer that I do…”

Cass wants to say yes. They want to admit that they want that. But they can’t, can they? They don’t have a real reason, other than that this is the only thing all day that really makes sense to them. Which is kind of horrifying, when they think about it, because AuDy was always the part of their life that made the least sense.

“If you want to stay,” they offer, half a sentence, their heart in their throat.

Each second that passes between then and AuDy’s response is an eternity.

“Alright,” AuDy says, and sits down. Cass lets out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding.

They’re still sitting awkwardly on the edge of their bed, and now they slide down onto the floor, next to AuDy. The position seems so intensely casual that they regret it at once, but they can’t bring themself to move away, either.

“AuDy—” Cass says. “Or should I call you Discovery?”

“Either is an acceptable form of address,” AuDy says.

“Yes, but…” It doesn’t make sense. That they’re both AuDy and Discovery. Cass needs this one thing to make sense. “Which one _are_ you?”

“I am not sure that is a distinction that’s worth making,” AuDy says.

“But that’s—I don’t—if ‘AuDy’ was really just Liberty and Discovery all along, how can you still be AuDy if you’re not Liberty anymore?”

AuDy goes silent. Cass assumes for a moment that they are just taking their time in response, but the moment stretches on, and they don’t answer. They haven’t shut down, yet; Cass is close enough that they can still hear the faint whir of their internal fan working.

Eidolons, when did that become a thing they were aware of? Ten years ago they couldn’t have picked out that noise if you’d told them to listen for it, but now it’s as obvious as the sight of AuDy’s form beside them.

They still aren’t answering.

“AuDy?” Cass says.

“I do not know,” AuDy says. “I do not have the answer to your question. I was Liberty, and I am Discovery, and I am something more and something less than they were—than I was—than _we_ were before we became AuDy. Liberty and Discovery were together for a long time, and now that we are separated… I do not know what I am now.”

“Oh,” Cass says softly. “I’m sorry.” On instinct, they lift their hand as if to place it on AuDy’s shoulder, as if in some gesture of comfort, and stop themself halfway there. Their fingers hang frozen in the air a moment before they lower them again.

(They don’t know if AuDy saw. It’s hard to track the gaze of someone without eyes. If they did, they don’t say anything.)

***

Euanthe catches them in the hallway a few days later and says, “Cassander, I need you to understand that this is not acceptable behavior for an Apokine.”

Cass stares. “What isn’t?” they say slowly.

“This—this fraternization, with this robot of yours. It’s unseemly.”

“I— _what_?” Cass says. Then, with a sigh, “What did Sokrates promise you to put you up to this?”

Euanthe furrows their brows. “What?”

(The thing is that Cass does like AuDy a lot. Which is understandable, they think, since AuDy is their friend, their once-coworker, their once-captain. AuDy is someone that Cass had a long time to get used to relying on, and it makes sense that their presence is comforting. They’ve never had any reason to think of AuDy as anything other than their friend.)

“Come on,” Cass says. “Honestly, I would’ve thought you found this kind of joke beneath you.”

(They’ve never had any reason to think of AuDy as anything other than their friend, which means if they’re honest that they’ve never really considered whether that’s something they would want. It was never a possibility that was on the table. It still isn’t, really. But now Cass can’t seem to stop thinking about it, can’t stop turning the idea over in their head late at night when they can’t sleep. AuDy. Them and AuDy. As… a couple? Romantically? As a romantic couple?

What would that even look like? What defines romance when all of the normal signals of physical affection are more or less off the table?

They try to picture it. AuDy by their side at dinners that aren’t about the Chime. AuDy and them sitting on the floor in Cass’ room and talking, like they have been, like has somehow become Cass’ normal. AuDy _being_ here not just for now, but for after.)

“This is not a joke,” Euanthe says.

Cass doesn’t know when it happened, but they’re right. This hasn’t been a joke for a while.

***

In their dream, it is Cass who stays behind on September while AuDy flees to safety with everyone else on the _Kingdom Come_. Only, September is also Apostolos and Cass is themself at age six, watching a ship take off for the first time. Only September is also Counterweight and AuDy is Jace, beautiful Jace, looking at them one last time with that fire in his eyes. Only there is Rigor, Rigor, Rigor, even bigger than reality, a dull skull-hammering hum below everything, louder and louder until it composes the entirety of Cass’ awareness, so intense they can’t even think, and there’s no time, no time, no time—

Cass jolts awake, heart pounding, shreds of dream still clinging to their mind. They have to be imagining it, but for an instant they’re sure they can still hear the sound.

Cass throws off the covers and sits up, fumbles to turn on the light on the bedside table. Their pulse refuses to slow.

It was a nightmare. That’s all. It’s not surprising, given everything they’ve been through.

Cass takes a breath, runs a hand through their tangled hair. They’re not going to get back to sleep anytime soon, they can guess that much.

They stand and throw on a pair of slippers, move out into the hallway. The building’s age looms, suddenly, in the quiet of night.

They were planning on heading to the kitchen, for water, but they’re halfway to the hangar before they realize that’s where they’re headed. They don’t turn around.

The _Kingdom Come_ looks much the same as it always did, on the outside and the inside both.

It hardly seems fair, when the years have changed Cass so much, for the fading cushions of the seats to look the same as ever, for the rusting metal walls to feel the same way against their hand as they always have. When they wander into the cockpit and find AuDy in the pilot’s seat, they don’t even really register it for a moment.

Then AuDy stands. “Cass.”

“AuDy,” Cass says. They blink. “What are you doing here?” They think about the scene as they had found it. AuDy in the pilot’s seat. “Were you planning on leaving?”

They’re not sure they can bear it if the answer is yes.

“Not yet,” AuDy says, after a moment.

“Yet?”

“I will leave soon. I promise.”

“Oh,” Cass says.

“Your hospitality has been very generous,” AuDy says.

“AuDy,” Cass says, taking a step forward, “You—“ They don’t know if it’s a good idea to say this out loud. Maybe they’ll regret it in the morning. But right now, they want to. “I don’t _want_ you to leave. You can, but I just—I want that to be clear. I like having you here.”

They’ve said it, now. Put words to this tangled thing that’s been taking root in their heart. Not all of the words, and probably not the right ones, but.

“I see,” AuDy says.

“Do you?” Cass says. “AuDy, I’m saying—I’m offering—I want you to _stay_.” The words come out jumbled, unsteady, but they’re true, and Cass can finally, finally say them. “If you want to. Not just this week or this month or whatever, but, as long as you can. AuDy, I don’t know what comes after all of this, but I know that I want you to be here for it.”

“I am here now,” AuDy says. Cass doesn’t know whether that means they intend to be here later or not, and they can’t bring themself to ask.

Cass hovers a moment in silence. They consider turning and leaving.

“But am I correct in guessing,” AuDy says, suddenly, “that when you extend this invitation you are actually saying something else entirely?”

“I—social convention tends to be that you don’t just say that outright,” Cass says.

“Yes,” AuDy says, and pauses. “However, it’s important you know that the answer to the question you _aren’t_ asking is yes.”

“Excuse me?” It’s not what they want to say at all, but it’s what comes out.

“Yes,” AuDy says again, and no, no, they can’t mean what Cass thinks they mean, they can’t let themself build up that hope. “I would like to be your partner.”

Cass laughs. They don’t understand how that’s what AuDy got out of that; never in a million years would have they have put in those terms, and yet—

It’s just that it’s absurd, said outright. Or maybe they’re just tired. All of their confusion and angsting and it somehow comes to _this_.

“Was I wrong?” AuDy says.

“No,” Cass says sharply. Their mind is a whirlwind of confused thoughts right now but that’s something they’re sure about.

They take a breath. “You’re right AuDy. I… Want that too. I want to date you, whatever the hell that actually means.”

They step closer, and, hesitant, on an instinct that they know doesn’t quite make sense, they reach for AuDy’s hand. AuDy’s hand, which is really too rigid and awkward to properly intertwine their fingers, but Cass can almost make it work. AuDy flexes their fingers ever-so-slightly, a squeeze, and this is all really incredibly silly, to be standing in the cockpit of the _Kingdom Come_ , holding hands, but Cass’ heart is pounding faster than the last time they were in battle and they wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

“Hmm,” AuDy says aloud, and Cass laughs again, and the world is aglow with everything that is good.

***

(They fall asleep that night on the _Kingdom Come_ , slumped against the solid surface of AuDy’s side, and awake stiff and uncomfortable on the floor the next morning. It’s the best sleep they’ve had in weeks.)

***

“So.” Sokrates draws out the word. “I was just talking to AuDy.”

“And?” Cass says, the single syllable dripping with apprehension.

“And they were saying that you two were, you know…”

Cass sighs. “Yeah,” they say, and they’re embarrassed and annoyed but the word comes out full of barely-restrained joy. “Yeah, we are.”

“I’m obligated to say ‘I told you so.’”

“So help me, I _will_ have you thrown out of this state building.”

***

It’s not the last conversation Cass has with Sokrates before they die, but it’s the last one of any real significance or length.

That particular death feels like more than Cass can possibly take. They’d only just begun to take their siblings’ presence in their life for granted again, and now to have it violently ripped out from under them…

They cry into AuDy’s shoulder for a couple of hours, mumbling about how it’s not _fair_ , it’s not fucking fair, and then they go downstairs and talk to their military strategist because they were an only child for a decade but so was Sokrates, and there is no way Cass is going to let them die in vain.

It happens slowly. Their duties begin to take up more and more of their time—talking with strategists and counselors and officials, overseeing meetings, maintaining the _Apokine_. There’s a lot of work to be done. Rigor _has_ to be defeated, or else what the fuck was the point of any of this?

Still, when AuDy corners them late one evening on their way back to their room and says, “Cass,” they have to shove aside a wave of guilt at the reminder that they’ve been ignoring the person closest to them.

“Hey, AuDy,” Cass says softly.

“I have been thinking,” AuDy says.

“About what?”

“Rigor has to be defeated.” It’s an echo of Cass’ own thoughts, but the task sounds so much more impossible when said out loud. Then, AuDy continues, “I cannot stay here.”

“What?”

“I will leave tomorrow,” AuDy says. “My piloting abilities are needed on the front lines.”

“Yes, but...” Cass doesn’t have a counterargument. They just know that they want AuDy to stay close. They look at AuDy in silence a long moment, as if studying the shape of their metal chassis will somehow reveal what they’re thinking. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow,” AuDy says. They reach up and take Cass’ hand in theirs—it’s awkward and stiff, still, always, but the intent is there. “Not tonight.”

They sit together in Cass’ rooms, hands clasped tight, and they talk.

They talk about a lot of things. Important things and dumb things and things Cass has thought about in years. They talk about Apostolosian politics, and a lack of candidates, and parking cars, and four very foolhardy, very brave criminals.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” Cass is pretty sure they say at some point. “After we’ve won, you’ll come back.”

“I will try,” AuDy says, and Cass supposes that’s probably the best they’re going to get.

Tomorrow does come, of course.

Cass wakes the next morning to find them nowhere in sight, and for a moment they are terrifiedthat they’ve left without any further goodbyes. But when they make their way—dreading what they’ll find—to the hangar, the _Kingdom Come_ is still there. Faint sounds of movement drift out from within it.

“AuDy?” Cass calls as they step inside.

They find AuDy in the cockpit, of course.

“Cassander,” they say, finally acknowledging Cass’ presence. “I am leaving now.”

“Yeah,” Cass says. Then, “Were you going to go without saying goodbye?”

AuDy doesn’t answer, just continues flipping switches and checking ignition settings.

“Well,” Cass says. “Too bad, you missed your chance. I’m here to say goodbye.”

AuDy stops what they’re doing and bodily turns towards Cass. “Would you like to come with me?”

“What?” Cass says, but they heard what AuDy said.

For a moment, they allow themself to live in the world where they say yes, where they once again go careening across the Golden Branch in the _Kingdom Come_ with AuDy. Maybe they pick up Aria and Mako somewhere along the way. Maybe they leave Rigor for someone else to deal with.

It’s a fantasy, though. Someone has to be the one to make the hard choices, and like it or not that’s always going to be Cass.

They’re just glad they get to say goodbye first.


End file.
